et through the line, apparently unseen by them, the white horse and the sable-clad rider had come. All gazed upon him an instant in silence, and he at them, as though awaiting for them to speak. They beheld a snow-white steed of perfect symmetry, his mouth unrestrained by a bit, and his back not weighted by a saddle. Instead of the former was a long lariat about his neck, and in place of the latter were several blankets fastened on with a surcingle. The rider was a youth of seventeen perhaps, strange to say, clad in a suit of black broadcloth that looked as though it might have done service for his father's Sunday wear, or upon the form of some itinerant person. The coat was buttoned up close, as though to hide the absence of a shirt, and the boots into the tops of which the pants were stuck, were four sizes too large for the wearer. The hat was a black felt, and it too seemed never to have been intended to fit the head upon which it rested. He carried a rifle large enough for a man of full size, and a pair o